


My Wings Can Carry Us

by Coacoaku



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Sam, Bobby has the patience of a saint, Bobby may as well be a saint, Bottom Sam Winchester, Caring Bobby Singer, Dean is a big bad ass, John is a liar, M/M, NSFW, Protective Dean, Sam is a little badass, Sam-Centric, Sort of an au but it mostly follows the show, Top Dean Winchester, dean doesn't want him to, sam can do it on his own, the smut is on the way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-21 13:59:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11945733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coacoaku/pseuds/Coacoaku
Summary: Sam's changing, John lied about one of the most important things ever, Dean teeters on giving up on his father and Bobby works to keep them all safe....





	My Wings Can Carry Us

"The tale goes something like this—a boy was born and at a young age introduced to demon blood. The child would forever recognize its impurities or uncleanliness due to the demon blood forced upon him. An archangel saddened by the cruelty that was this boy's fate will give her own blood to the child; carrying with it something called a grace."

Bobby pauses, monitoring John's reaction to the so called 'prophecy'. Waiting for some sort of signal to continue—more so to see John was even paying attention anymore. John blinks and nods—eventually—re telling what Bobby had said into far simpler terms.

"So an archangel pities a child cursed with demon blood?"

"Yeah,but there's a little more to it than that. The angel's blood is stronger than the demon's and frees the child from previous impurity. But the archangel gives up this grace—sort of like an angel's life force—and that grace becomes part of the child."

"So demon kid becomes angel kid?"

"Exactly,the kid even gets the archangel's abilities except lessened.The archangel basically quits its angel day job to lead the kid to save forsaken people from damnation by piloting the kid's subconscious."

Sam pipes up randomly, overhearing the previous conversation.

"You're forgetting the other half of the story. The kid or 'blessedly cursed child' goes onto find their soul mate, a child lost on the path of a soldier—the 'Soldier of confusion'. The soldier's life ever filled with fighting, loss of life and loss of purpose. The soldier unable to carry this weight alone, inevitably finds his way to heaven over and over century after century by the guiding light—his soulmate."

John and Bobby turn towards the couch upon which fourteen year old Sam sat a book in his hands. The youngest son's eyes lift from the page, as he realizes the focus had shifted to him.

"Son, how in the hell did you know that?" Bobby awaits an answer, worried by the pause and by the reply that leaves Sam's lips.

"I-I don't—" Sam pauses, frozen for a second in thought. Eyebrows furrowing as he searches for an answer he seemingly lost or never had.

"I-I just—I just _know_."

Sam further contemplates the source of the knowledge of which he spoke so fluently. It was second nature—he hadn't known who or what had given or told him the story or if someone engraved on his brain— _he just knew_. The youngest Winchester keeps at it though, as if scratching at a cracked wall that separated his memories. The figurative wall cracks, crumbles; a piece of the puzzle is revealed! A name. But it hurts to look, hurts to see the name hidden behind the wall. A physical pain shoots through Sam from temple to temple.

**Bobby, John and Dean are at either side of Sam. The youngest is on the floors now—fallen from the couch as the strain becomes too much.**  

But he has to see!*Has to know what—in this case who—is hidden behind the wall in his mind he hadn't known existed, let alone built. He's clawing at the wall in desperation now;it aches so bad but he can't mind it. Not when he's so close to the possible answer to many questions.

**He's curled into a ball in front of the couch—nails digging into his forehead, easily breaking the skin. Sam can feel the soreness of his throat from groans of pain he can't even hear.**  

Finally, a who for the quintet that was who, what, when, why! A step—maybe small, maybe big- it's too early to tell—in the right direction. He can't read it, not sure why, not too concerned at the moment but he can spell it—the name. A-Z-A-Z-E-L. How do you pronou—?

"Azazel!"

The name spilling out of his mouth before the pronunciation comes to him but he knows how to say it, again second nature. Sam shoots up into a sitting position, his eyes scan the room, Bobby, John and Dean all let out a sigh of relief before backing up slightly; giving Sam space to breathe. "Azazel." He repeats much calmer than the previous random shout. And even softer the realization of who Azazel is drops from his mouth without warning.

"He-He—"

_a deep choppy inhale_  

"He killed mom."

John stares confused at the random statement. Dean's frozen can't move even if his life depends on it, the memories of a mother now gone flooding his frame, his gaze locked on the floor. Silence falls upon them for a moment as Bobby contemplates on what he could say to ease the pain of the sudden revelation, the hunter's gaze flickering from John to Dean to Sam and then to back to John. John's lips part and close only to open again— a voice found. "How do you know that?" Sam's head slowly turns, the motion isn't fluid, it shakes and quakes like he's too weak to handle the simple movement. His eyes land on John and he pauses—ready to explain himself—but at the insane calmness emitted from his father irks him to question.

"How do _you_ know that?" Sam's head doesn't tilt as Dean expected it to, but his eyes squint with a controlled anger Dean'd never seen in the kid. His brother wasn't gonna pop off or explode but he was gonna get answers from their father. Dean tears his eyes from Sam to stare at John preparing questions to enter in the conversation that Sam had quickly twisted into an interrogation.

Bobby stares from the youngest to John as the realization of 'oh shit, John didn't tell Dean or Sam that he'd had a run in with the bastard that killed their mother and learned that the bastard demon had a name' leaves him wanting to slap the living hell out of John Winchester. But, Bobby we'll settle for a tiny yelling fit.

"You didn't tell them! She wasn't just your wife! She was their mother, ya' dumbass! They need to know everything you know in this situation. Because guess what? They're in this too!"

Bobby continued grumbling off to himself as he saunters out of the room, the familiar sound of two beers 'clinking' heard as he went. John's eyes stare deep into angry green pools of his eldest son, not as controlled as the heat that hid behind Sam's hazel but intimidating nonetheless—for the average person but of course not to John Winchester himself....right? Sam still sits on the floor from his fit earlier, his face devoid of anger but his eyes betrayed him. Beautiful pools of restrained rage and the agony of his father's betrayal. John takes a deep breath and steps toward an armchair only to lower himself with a second sigh before speaking. "Dean, Sam, the couch...."

He pauses watches Dean cross his arms and puff out the broad chest, a single leg and foot jutting out slightly in front of Sam — it's instinctual, protective, but John can't help the hurt at the realization that his own son had unconsciously discerned him to be a threat. Dean, the stubborn bull that he is, doesn't budge and it's not like Sam is any differe—the youngest son, slides off of his knees and pulls himself to his feet, before gracefully taking a seat on the couch. The flame of anger, still clearly burning in Dean's eyes, dims as Sam stands and as his eyes return to John's it's gone — lost to the emptiness of the inquiring globes that now held John's gaze. Dean, wide eyed surprised by Sam's compliance after the dishonest acts of their father, stares at his younger brother in shock. Sam looks to Dean and then pats the space beside him urging Dean to sit. Confusion takes through Dean's being but then again Sam fought with John a lot so maybe it's finally worn down the will of the young one.

The eldest son stares into the familiar orbs of a brother he probably has grown to love in unconditional ways he has yet to identify, as the anger and pain and sadness hidden there seeps into Dean as he takes his seat. He bites back the need to bark at his father for being the one who put it there. He needs the whole story before he can start roaring out in retribution for the pain his father caused for Sammy more than himself.

John can't see it. He can't see the agony in Sam's eyes. Can't see the youngest's mind at work, answering questions that John and Dean haven't asked yet.

"A few months back, they were tailing me, hadn't thought too hard about. Some random bozos that thought I was easy pickings or whatever. 'Caught me in an alley way. There were too many when he shows up. Spunky piece o' shit."

John pauses gauging the reactions of his two sons. Dean has calmed but the green of his eyes still glinting with anger. Dean's slouched arms thrown over the back of a couch—man-spreading so much his knee knocks into Sam's as he taps his foot. Sam is damn near opposite, back straight, his chest out for display but his shoulders slightly pulled in. The floppy haired teenager has slightly curled in on himself, as if the pain of betrayal was physical in the pit of his stomach. He straightens and it's a practice John has witnessed in every time his eyes have flickered to his youngest son.

"Some fists are thrown, one or two of em' exorcised, and I'm all alone in an alleyway with a name—Azazel."

Sam sits calm and takes a deep breath, already expecting the outrage of his older sibling. Dean, never one to disappoint, throws himself to his feet and is yelling about how John should've told them, and how could they trust John now; but Sam's got that figured out, too. Before, he can even start with forgiveness, he's got to figure himself out.

Sam wants to be right there next to Dean, howling out in betrayal and a need for aggression and action. Yet, here he is, on the couch silent eyes locked to the wall beside his father's head. Something changed, it was so easy to comply with the man he was so angry at, so easy to sit and contemplate instead scream out in injustice. And yeah, it sucks to be lied to, and it fucks up trust. But Sam is hiding so much shit right now, he couldn't care less if his father went out right now and killed Azazel. That right there, the not caring, the emotionless back-drop to all of his thoughts and actions, is bothering and scaring the hell out of Sam. He barely cares if Azazel dies, let alone if he or his family are the ones to kill him.

Before long he's gone—long gone in a world of his own, day dreaming about how he thinks he would've reacted. How Sam Winchester would yelled, seething with unkept rage, he would leave—get out while the wounds were still fresh, stomp out with no intention of a return. It'd be extremely easy now, to just leave; but it wouldn't be him leaving. He's doesn't feel as though he's totally in control, he can't recall when he—his emotions—lost control, he can't recall what he even wants or likes for that matter. He's not feeling, Sam Winchester is just thinking, observing, existing. And without that feeling the alarm bells don't sound at the idea of just being. A _voice_ seemingly sings in the back of his mind and all of a sudden he doesn't feel _alone_ in his head. He stares at the wall that he'd clawed a hole into, and presses his ear to the brick, and whispers, 'Am I alone?'

and he thinks

_He knows_ the answer just before the voice answers

_'No, but . . .'_

He knows what the voice is going to say, it's instant, second nature.

' _Why would you want to be?'_

And Sam knows he doesn't want to be because he never has—the voice has always been there holding his hand through the worst of days. Even now it gets him through the rage he has right now without him screaming and yelling at his father.

He knows because that voice _is_  him—Sam Winchester.

**Author's Note:**

> Whatcha think? Hmm? I don't really like the beginning as much as the end, it just seems stupid to me. But I'm lazy and chapter 2 is in the works so.


End file.
